Well Groomed (94 page)

‘Think you’re needed out front,’ he told Niall, offering him a slug from his hip-flask.

Straightening his crumpled morning suit, Niall shook his head.

‘Sorry – thoughtless of me,’ Hugo apologised, putting it away. ‘You feeling okay?’

‘Fucking terrified.’

‘Lisette’s turned up after all,’ Hugo told him, expecting a tirade.

But Niall merely shrugged. ‘Bloody brave of her,’ he said simply. ‘Sit her next to someone sympathetic, huh?’ He kissed his best man on both cheeks. ‘See you in a minute. Thank you so much for doing this.’

Hugo’s eyes narrowed jealously, but he followed him out without complaint.

Standing nervously in the hall, Lisette was wearing a very demure grape-green trouser suit with her slinky mane neatly pinned beneath an oversized citrus orange top hat. Apart from a plunging neckline, which clearly revealed that she had nothing but hot skin underneath, she looked remarkably lacking in the usual carnality. Even her huge, hungry grey eyes were naked of their usual smudgy kohl.

‘Don’t look so miserable, darling.’ Hugo took her arm. ‘I think you might rather enjoy this.’

‘I nearly didn’t come,’ she muttered, sounding almost wretched. ‘I can’t believe they’re actually going through with it. It’s all my fault.’

‘Now that’s a confession I never thought I’d hear.’ Hugo found himself smiling delightedly. ‘You almost sound like a guilt-complex-wife.’

He sat her next to Cassandra’s rheumy husband Michael, who gave her an approving look.

‘Haven’t we met?’

Lisette flashed a wary smile. ‘As long as you’re not my maker, then I hope so. Weren’t you in the Loire with the D’Eblouirs a couple of years back?’

‘Thought I recognised you. Never forget a face.’ His little rat’s eyes weren’t looking anywhere near her face as he said this.

Leaving them to it, Hugo checked on Niall, who was in an arm-lock and being thoroughly wept over by his mother.

‘I’m fine!’ he spluttered breathlessly when Hugo asked. ‘There’s Henrietta at the door – check everyone’s on their way, will you? I’m sure they’re late. Ouch – that hurts, Mother!’

‘She’s a lovely girl, son. But I’ll always be your mother!’

Beside her, Pa O’Shaughnessy lit another rolly. ‘Jesus, I tink the boy knows that.’

‘Don’t blaspheme in church, Daniel!’

‘This isn’t a church, woman.’

‘And may the merciful Lord forgive us for that!’ Ma burst into more racking sobs, almost breaking Niall’s neck. ‘Sure little Lisette’s at the back there, son, looking terrible sorry, so she is. Perhaps she’s not such a sinner after all. It’s not too late to change your mind. If you tell Tash you’re a good Catholic boy, she’ll understand.’

‘She’d kill him, so she would,’ Pa muttered, pulling a stray strand of tobacco from between his teeth. ‘And so would I.’

Hugo found Henrietta chatting to the butch female registrar by the door. An absolute bag of nerves, she was dressed in a very smart Windsmoor suit and cream trilby that matched her pale face. She was shaking so much that her pearl earrings rattled like chattering teeth.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked nervously as he showed her to the front pew.

‘Okay so far.’ Hugo glanced around. ‘I think we can safely say merry hell will break loose in about ten minutes, though. Bride on her way?’

‘Yup, they’re just doing another circuit of the village because that
Cheers!
chap was being horribly pushy – James is outside talking to him now. It’s his fault we’re late, I’m afraid. He held things up because a bird dropped a what-not on his suit while he was waiting by the car at Lime Tree Farm.’

‘Lucky then.’ Hugo settled her in and dashed back to check on the best man, passing the
Cheers!
photographer who was running into the hall from the opposite direction looking terrified.

Joining his lanky assistant, he hastily clipped his camera on to the tripod with shaking hands.

A moment later James French strode into the hall, looking thoroughly disapproving and extremely haughty, his fleshy face absolutely immobile as he stalked to the front row and sat down beside his wife. There was a slight hush amongst the guests.

Two rows from the front, Cass was clutching Sophia’s red satin arm in alarm. ‘I thought your father was giving Tash away?’ she hissed, pointing to the front where James’s head was dipped towards his wife’s now.

‘She wouldn’t let him,’ Sophia sniffed. ‘Poor Daddy was terribly upset. They had a frightful row at Henry’s christening, don’t you remember?’

‘So who is giving her away?’

‘Mummy.’

‘How ghastly.’

‘I know.’ Sophia wrinkled her nose. ‘Very Islington.’

Gus was at the long gallery door now, welcoming Penny with desperate relief. She had brought along Wally the farm collie and Zoe’s paranoid Dalmatian Enid, both of whom were wearing the same fat, ivy-coloured bows. Despite looking enchanting, Enid was scrabbling to escape, her clipped nails sliding around on the polished wood floor, her pale brown eyes rolling in terror.

‘Hope the bride doesn’t behave like that,’ Gus watched her warily. ‘All set?’

‘On their way.’ Penny winked. ‘She didn’t fit into the dress Alexandra brought. We had to dig mine out of the loft in the end, but it’s covered with fake blood from the time Rufe wore it to a fancy dress as the Bride of Dracula. We’ve been at it with the Vanish all morning.’

‘Hope the bride doesn’t do that either,’ Gus gulped anxiously.

Rufus wandered in behind Penny. At his feet, Beetroot was still scratching madly at her bow.

‘The car’s had to go around again – a whole load more guests have turned up.’

The very last arrivals were several eventers who had come straight from a competition the other side of Reading and were hugely embarrassed to be still wearing their grass-stained cross-country gear.

‘It started late,’ Brian Sedgewick muttered apologetically. ‘Someone let cows on to the course last night and they ate the entire centre of the Hay Wain water complex. I bought Tash and Niall an alarm clock as a wedding present.’

Gus had to put them on Niall’s side as there was no room left on Tash’s. Several actors in front craned around enviously.

‘Starring in the latest Jilly Cooper adaptation?’ one asked enviously, eyeing a jodhpured thigh. ‘I went up for that. Bastards threw me out because I couldn’t ride. I ask you! I said, “Darling, I’m an actor – I can
act
riding.” Oh – here they come!’

Suddenly Roger Allice clicked his knuckles theatrically at the rear of the hall and launched into a very depressing Grieg concerto as the female registrar walked slowly to the top of the aisle, smiling benevolently at everyone. She looked like a wannabe vicar in a black suit with a very narrow white collar as she flicked open her service book and waited for the bridal party.

‘One of us,’ said an actor delightedly. ‘Check the Doc Martens.’

‘Where’s the bloody best man?’ Matty asked fretfully, gazing around the hall. ‘He isn’t here yet. I absolutely refuse to get up there if they’re short-staffed.’

‘I’ll do it then,’ Sally told him, consulting the service sheet. ‘Bloody hell – Rory Franks is reading a Yeats poem – “All Things Can Tempt Me”. One would imagine so. Or perhaps “An Acre of Grass”. Oh, look, your mother’s here.’

Dashing through the doors, Alexandra raced to the front pew wearing an amazing lilac trouser-suit ensemble that fluttered around like a dropping sail. Her floppy seventies hat looked likely to render her airborne at any second, flapping madly in her haste. Only Alexandra could look so ludicrously chic and fragile in such an outfit.

‘Bloody hell, my mother’s dressed as one of Pan’s People,’ Matty groaned, closing his eyes.

Sophia was clutching Cass’s arm this time. ‘That’s Mummy!’

‘So who
is
giving Tash away?’

‘The mysterious best man?’ Sophia suggested vaguely.

‘I could do with a Best man,’ Marcus piped up, suddenly taking an interest. ‘Or a Guinness. Or even a lager, man.’

‘Trust Niall to have a hippy wedding,’ Cass sniffed disapprovingly. ‘I’ve always said Tash was too good for that druggy Irish layabout.’

Alexandra was settling between Henrietta and Pascal in the front row. ‘All going well,’ she informed them excitedly.

Henrietta bit her lip edgily. ‘Are Emily and Beccy behaving themselves?’

‘Having great fun, darling.’ Alexandra was craning around to wave cheerfully at members of her family. ‘Isn’t this a hoot?’

Henrietta swung around too as a noisy chattering from the stairwell beyond the doors heralded the imminent arrival of the bride and her raucous attendants.

‘Where’s the bloody best man?’ demanded James French, noticing that there was still a gap at the front like the missing black piano key where Niall and the registrar were standing with a one-man space between Hugo, Gus and Rufus lined up to their right.

The next moment, the ante-room door swung open at the rear of the hall and a tall, slim figure in a very baggy morning suit raced up the aisle on endless legs to take up the empty space beside Niall, topper still in place. Only a few wedding guests got to view the best man’s face as the figure flashed past. Of those that did, Bob Hudson let out a low whistle.

‘Bloody attractive man. Should be in films.’

Rory Franks watched the passing bottom impassively. ‘Sometimes I wish I was gay,’ he sighed, rubbing his itching nostrils.

‘Sometimes I wish you were too.’ Bob gave him a game wink.

As soon as the best man was in place beside Niall, the topper came off and revealed hair scraped back into a chaotic pony tail.

‘A bit eighties,’ Sophia sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Who d’you suppose it is?’

‘One of his dreadful acting cronies, I suppose.’ Cass craned to see. ‘Looks a bit of a – you know – a woofter.’

Rufus was fighting to keep hold of Beetroot, who was straining her head towards Niall’s right-hand man, her rope-thin tail spiralling joyously.

‘For Christ’s sake, don’t let her go,’ Niall muttered as he stared out front. ‘She’ll have my leg off. And she smells something awful.’

Beetroot let out a couple of high-pitched barks of frustration.

‘I’m sure I know the best man from somewhere,’ mused Julia Ditton.

But the wedding guests were suddenly distracted by the emergence of the bride, absolutely swathed in silk and lace. For a moment she stood alone in the doorway – pale, fragile and solitary.

There was a general hush of anticipation as the guests craned around to get the first view of her. On Niall’s side a couple of flash cameras went off and an actor could be heard muttering in a loud stage whisper: ‘Dreadful dress.’ The
Cheers!
photographer was clicking away like mad from his standpoint at the front of the aisle.

There was certainly nothing spectacular about her dress – it emphasised her narrow waist and slender shoulders, but was essentially a large frou-frou meringue – and her veil was far too thick and heavy. Yet she radiated such total calm and confidence that eyes remained glued to her as though hypnotised. She looked absolutely beautiful.

Jiggling Linus distractedly, Matty drew in a sharp breath of admiration. ‘Tash looks staggering,’ he whistled.

‘Who on earth’s that walking in behind her?’ Sally muttered. ‘Bloody rude turning up so late.’

There was some puzzled murmuring amongst the guests as an exquisite, tall, blonde figure in a simple dark green dress came through the door and walked to the bride’s side. To the guests’ utter astonishment, she then took her left arm and started to lead her towards the aisle.

‘Who is that giving Tash away?’ Etty was peering with interest. ‘Is that one of my grandchildren?’

‘Search me.’ Alicia offered Thug another choc drop. ‘I hope this is a short ceremony – Gordons is looking a bit fragile. What is that dreadful racket?’

At the rear of the hall, Roger Allice had paused momentarily to sneeze and then struck up his own specially commissioned composition which Niall had asked for as an alternative to the wedding march. It was a very Phillip Glass number full of rhythmic repetitions and twirling top notes. The beat was so fast that for a couple of seconds the bride and her entourage were thrown into a confused quick-march, but they slowed as a bridesmaid tripped over the train and almost brought them all down.

Smiling behind a misty lace veil, the bride turned to face the long expanse of aisle and finally spotted the wide shoulders of her extremely scruffy groom.

Behind her, the bridal party was a glorious hotchpotch. Henrietta’s elder daughter Emily smouldered sexily in a very short dark green dress. Beside her, her sister Beccy looked like a close relative of Mary Poppins in a broad-skirted number of a similar design, but possessing about six times the fabric. Tottering after them came Sophia’s sickly children, Lotty and Josh, who were both starting to snivel loudly as they spotted their sympathetic au pair clutching Henry in a back row.

They were followed by Sally and Matty’s two elder children, Tom and Tor. Crew-cut Tom, who was decked out in a bottle green Victorian suit, was discreetly playing on a computer game and Tor was grinning broadly at everyone in sight, most of her front teeth missing and her white rose head-dress falling over her eyes. She was the only bridesmaid not carrying a flower basket because she’d thrown it from the car window on the journey there. Bringing up the rear was Polly, wearing a version of the green silk number that was wildly fashionable and bore no resemblance to the rest – it had a button-through A-line hipster skirt, Vivienne Westwood-style corset bustier and a flowered head-dress in the shape of a baseball cap. She was also carrying a video camera, its red light flashing as she frantically caught all the action on VHS.

‘Oh, doesn’t Tor look sweet?’ Sally gazed at them indulgently.

‘Who’s that giving Tash away?’ Matty was peering at the figure in green. ‘She looks terribly familiar.’